


Unwell

by AutisticWriter



Series: Alphabet Fics [21]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Days, Banned Together Bingo, Blood and Injury, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Cutting, Dark, Depressing, Depression, Drug Use, Dutch van der Linde Has Mental Health Issues, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mania, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, One Shot, Period Typical Attitudes, Self-Harm, Self-Medication, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25451023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: Dutch has a bad day. Hosea does his best to help.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Series: Alphabet Fics [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1196530
Kudos: 17
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Unwell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Banned Together Bingo 2020. The prompt: Depressing.

“Dutch is sick,” Hosea once said to a young John, when Dutch was having a bad day and John wanted to know why Dutch was so drunk and withdrawn and snappy, his hair a mess and his guns and knife missing (actually hidden in Arthur’s tent for the day). And with no real way to explain why Dutch was like this and not sure John would understand a detailed explanation anyway, Hosea resorted to those simple words.

These days, most of the gang don’t know about Dutch’s mental problems, and both Dutch and Hosea prefer it that way.

“They’ll think I’m weak,” Dutch muttered, high on too many cocaine lozenges and holding Hosea’s wrist so hard it hurt, clinging to his partner as his mind raced behind tired eyes, tense despite a severe lack of sleep.

“It’s none of their business,” Hosea said simply, not refuting Dutch’s words as his manic, drugged partner wouldn’t believe him anyway. But he was right—Dutch’s sickness was, and is, nothing to do with anyone but him.

\---

One day when the gang camps out at Horseshoe Overlook, Hosea awakes at sunrise, jerked out of desperately needed sleep by hands on his arm and Kieran frantically mumbling, “M-Mr Hosea, sir, please wake up.”

Hosea grumbles, rubbing his face as he forces his eyes open, and stares up at the nervous not-O’driscoll. “What’s the matter? It’s so early…”

“I know, sir, I’m sorry, but I, I got up to see to the horses and I noticed Mr Dutch’s tent w-was open and he’s not in there and…” His voice drops to a hoarse whisper, panic shining in his eyes. “There’s blood on his blankets.”

Despite his fatigue and aches and pains, Hosea sits up so fast he almost bangs their heads together. His stomach cramps, already fully aware of the situation from the minimal details. “Okay. Thank you, Kieran. I’ll go look for him—and keep this to yourself, you hear?”

Eyes still wide, Kieran nods his head so hard it makes Hosea dizzy just watching him. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Moving automatically, still half asleep, Hosea shoos Kieran out of his tent and tugs on his boots and coat, and rushes outside into a world tinted orange by the rising sunlight. It is a beautiful day, but not one he can appreciate right now. Because—

It has happened again.

A bad day hasn’t occurred since they hid up in the mountain, frozen and miserable and mourning the disaster that was Blackwater. Hosea had found Dutch out in the snow without his coat on, hands bright red with cold and shivering violently, muttering to himself about plans, although none of it made any sense. And it took a lot of arguing before Dutch stopped trying to freeze to death and let Hosea coax him back indoors. It was weeks ago, but the memory stands out fresh and stinging in Hosea’s mind. A memory surely soon to be replaced by whatever the fuck has happened now.

Hosea scans his surroundings, trying to locate Dutch, and strains his ears to hear anything over the morning birdcalls and his friends snoring in their sleep. And then he gets a terrifying flash of inspiration, and Hosea hurries over to the cliff at the edge of camp.

Just as he thought, Hosea finds Dutch at the cliff edge. But unlike his worries, Dutch doesn’t lie at the bottom of the cliff, broken and dead from the long fall. No, Dutch sits there, feet dangling, and focuses on—

Hosea flinches at the horribly familiar sight of blood smeared across his partner’s skin.

Too focused to notice Hosea creeping closer, Dutch grips his straight razor in a shaky grip, staring at the blood all over his leg. The left leg of his union suit has been tugged up as far as it will go, rucked around the middle of Dutch’s thigh. And a new cut patterns the scarred skin just above his knee, deep enough to send blood dribbling down his leg, congealing against Dutch’s skin.

Hosea’s chest aches. This is so familiar, but why must it still hurt every single time? Will he ever get used to this?

Of course he won’t. How could he get used to knowing Dutch feels so sick that he injures himself or wants to die or consumes too many drugs and too much alcohol just to try and make his brain work properly? Seeing Dutch so unwell will always hurt. Always.

“Dutch…” Hosea whispers, keeping his voice as soft as he can, but Dutch still jumps.

His head snaps around to stare at Hosea, dark bags under his wide, bloodshot eyes. Did he sleep at all last night?

“O-Oh, Hosea,” Dutch says, swallowing hard. “I…”

Hosea kneels down beside Dutch, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“No, it ain’t. I, I can’t think of anythin’. My brain’s so dull and empty. I can barely remember how to talk, let alone think about my plans. I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here. And…” Dutch smiles, a sick, awkward expression contorting his tired face, and lets out a bitter, hollow laugh. “At least feelin’ pain’s better than feelin’ nothin’.”

Hosea stares at Dutch, and then slowly, carefully, takes the razor from Dutch’s hand. Dutch doesn’t resist, letting Hosea fold the bloody blade back against the handle, and Hosea shoves the razor into his pocket. He watches Dutch, part of him still terrified Dutch will fling himself off the cliff, and processes what Dutch told him.

There are several different reasons for the cutting, Hosea has realised over many years. Sometimes Dutch hurts himself out of anger, or stress, or emotional pain that most would let out by crying. But other times, like now, Dutch just feels… numb, and the pain is all that makes him feel alive.

Just thinking about it all makes Hosea want to cry, hating how normal this is for them both. But he doesn’t sob or even sigh; that wouldn’t be helpful right now. All he needs right now is to calm Dutch down.

Is it sick that he almost prefers dealing with Dutch like this? Depressed, numb Dutch will passively let Hosea patch him up and go back to bed. But manic Dutch, a Dutch often high on cocaine, will argue and sometimes resort to violence, paranoid and buzzing with energy and refusing help every step of the way. Yeah, it is a bit sick when he puts it like that way, but he doesn’t mean it like that. He hates seeing Dutch like this, and wants nothing more than for Dutch to get better, but it is only natural for Hosea to prefer situations that are less stressful to deal with.

“Dutch, will you come back to your tent?” Hosea asks, squeezing Dutch’s shoulder.

Dutch sighs and yanks his pant leg down, covering the injury and wincing in pain.

“I promise I’ll stay. We can talk, or cuddle, or sleep. Or read one of your Evelyn Miller books?” Always good at acting, Hosea grins, trying to pretend everything is okay. “Anythin’ to help you stop feelin’ ‘nothing’. Yeah?”

“I…” Disorientated and lost in his own head, it takes Dutch a few seconds to say, “O-Okay, Hosea. You win.”

Hosea smiles and slips an arm around Dutch, helping him to his feet. Hopefully, with Hosea’s help, Dutch might feel better soon.

At least, until the next time he feels unwell.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WriterAutistic)


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